


Sacrificial Lie

by Minka



Category: the GazettE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minka/pseuds/Minka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoi would become that wall; the mirror would be his mask…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrificial Lie

**Author's Note:**

> This is really random. Written in a strange fit of inspiration whilst being rather drunk and listening to Linkin Park. Base was done in about an hour and edited the next day.   
> Originally posted on 18/07/2008 @ http://minka-g.livejournal.com/50372.html

_For the love of the band._

That was why Aoi currently had his tongue in Uruha’s throat. Why he moaned when the other’s hand moved along his thigh. Why Aoi, against his better judgement, pressed closer to the taller guitarist, burying them in the darkness of the hallway. 

_For the love of the band._

The fans still screamed. Cheering and yelling and begging for more and somehow the way Uruha moaned made Aoi draw connections between the two. The concert had ended, the two encores were complete and yet still the crowed wanted more. Aoi kissed Uruha, he pressed into him and yet still Uruha moaned and tugged him closer. 

Constant. Unwavering. Demanding. Two parallels so different that they could only be similar. 

Aoi closed his eyes, letting the other’s hand run through his hair. It wasn’t pleasure that made him hide those dark orbs, nor lust. Even desire was easily faked with practice. 

It was fear; Aoi’s eyes closed in fear. Fear that Uruha would see the truth. That Uruha would understand Aoi’s thoughts, probably better than the guitarist did himself, and that was a truly horrifying notion. It chilled Aoi to the bone, worked in perfect contrast to Uruha’s heated touch. To be understood would be his downfall and none of them – none – could afford that. 

Did Uruha look at him and see a mistake, or did the other guitarist see purity and completion and everything that he wanted? Aoi would never be able to tell. Not until that moment when he slipped, when his façade deteriorated and Uruha realised the truth. 

That, thankfully, was not going to be today. It was not going to be this week or this year. The GazettE were on a roll, speeding through the music industry like a runaway train and Aoi wouldn’t be the one to slow it down. 

_For the love of the band._

The taller man’s hand gripped his hip, pulling them closer and Aoi melted. Melted from the intensity of his lie and melted under the weight of Uruha’s need and his own reluctance to give. 

It was like a fire building in his chest. A raging volcano churning and turning with each word he spoke, with each kiss he pressed to saliva moistened lips. Slowly it was filling him, moving closer and closer to the surface. Burning his throat and flushing his cheeks. Next to him Uruha chuckled, his grip strengthening and Aoi just pressed his eyes closed tighter. 

Eyes were the windows to the soul at least that was what someone famous had once said. Was that the case with Aoi? When Uruha looked into his eyes, what did he see? Love, adoration, want and need; the things that Aoi faked so well? Or was it the lie itself that showed? That telltale little spark of mistruth that could not be cloaked in forced niceties. Maybe Aoi was easier to read than he feared. Maybe he really was an open book for the other man to peruse at will; Uruha had always said that.

“You’re so transparent, Aoi.” When looking at a page of scribbled tab. There was nothing neat about the written music, no structure or added flare as people believed went hand in hand with Uruha. It was a mess of ink blots, little crosses and scribble. “It’s messy, but you love it.”

And Aoi nodded his head. It was messy, that was for sure, but he did love it as well. The almost dark, rolling beats, the sensual undertones and the build-up from repetitive to somewhere bordering on erratic made it the perfect song. No, not the perfect song. Not yet. It needed something and Aoi knew what it was right away. Deep, haunting, utterly mesmerizing; the sound of their vocalist and the song would be complete. 

Aoi closed his eyes and just listened. _Listened._

And yes, he did love it. Aoi loved every note, every sound, every time breath hitched in throat before pouring feeling into the next line. It was addictive, intoxicating and teasing. 

“I knew you’d love it.” A slap to the paper, a laugh and the sound of a lighter and Aoi still didn’t open his eyes. Aoi was lost, drowning in thoughts that he couldn’t control, in thoughts that came unaided. Reddish-brown hair, large eyes, black lines against white and a pouting scowl that would haunt him forever. 

“Aoi?” that wasn’t the voice of their vocalist. It wasn’t part of the song playing in Aoi’s head and yet he still couldn’t open his eyes. He merely did what was his habit; he nodded and smiled and looked every bit as pleased as his secret thoughts would allow him. 

Aoi didn’t talk about his feelings. He never did. He agreed with people, nodded his head and hummed in the back of his throat. It was accompanied with a sniff, a scratch to the back of the neck and a slight twitch of his lips. That was how he went about his life. Always careful, always cautious and never wanting to say the wrong thing. 

Sometimes it was different. With music and stage, lives and composition of albums he would voice his thoughts clear and loud, but that was it. That was the job and the job was his life; he was expected to do that. 

Personal life could never be the same. They were band mates, not best friends. Despite what people thought they were not all joined at the hip. They did not spend every waking moment together and each sought their own solitude when the schedule lightened. Christmas’ were spent with family, birthdays either on the road or at home and other people existed in the world. 

That was until sparkling lights, merry tunes and gin changed everything the Christmas just past and Aoi and Uruha set a whole new meaning to being band mates. 

“I need you.” Soft and needy, a plea that Aoi knew better than his own name. Long fingers wrapped around his arm, tugging with all the persistence of a child seeking candy and like the tired mother, Aoi complied. He moved closer, pressed Uruha to the wall and silenced the other man with a kiss. 

Deep and hungry though he was already full. 

“Not here.” They were practiced words, rehearsed with repetition, both silent and audible. He’d mastered them long ago, when that spark of realization had hit like a slap to the face. When Aoi first realised that he’d made a mistake. 

He’d stood in front of the mirror in his small bathroom and stared into his own eyes. Locked in a death gaze, he had stayed there for an eternity. Not even the light reflecting off his all so tempting bath could deter him from his scrutiny.

Mistake. It was all a mistake. 

The words chanted over and over in his mind, taking on lilts and tones of their own as if he were composing a song. And over that, through that thought, he heard it. A clear voice, deep and resounding, strong and yet breathless and in the mirror Aoi’s face morphed into someone else’s. 

Black painted nails roamed upwards, skimming over cheek and lips. Aoi felt his own hand cold against his flesh but in the mirror it was warm and tender, brushing over paler skin and tracing a smaller mouth. Eyes fluttered shut though Aoi could still see; see because only his changed reflection had closed his eyes; see because it was all so clear in his mind that sight seemed superfluous. 

Black lines, elegant throat and smooth collar bone. Aoi saw it all, imagined it all and only one thought kept him from sinking entirely. 

It wasn’t Uruha. 

Aoi wasn’t a violent person but the power he felt as the shards of broken mirror fell to the floor, his fist against the wall, was like a drug. It buzzed all the way from his heart, through his veins and made his fingers tremble. His jaw clenched, his chin lifted defiantly and his eyes, although he could no longer see them, were clear and resolved as he regarded what was left behind. 

Just a wall, a blank slab of plaster painted to look aesthetically pleasing. A nail, a length of string and the broken frame that once held the glass in place. 

Looking at that, it all became incredibly simple. So simple that Aoi almost laughed, that a smile tugged at his lips and the blood seeping from his fist was nothing but paint. Paint that he could smear onto a canvas like an artist and create something beautiful out of something bland. 

Aoi would become that wall; the mirror would be his mask and Uruha’s feelings would be what he returned. The nail would hold him together, the string bind him to his choice and the frame would be the guideline for what he and Uruha should have been and yet never would. The painting would became his life and the brush he used to create it would be based on lies. 

A true artist. A perfect painting. 

_For the love of the band._

And that was why he rocked his hips forward slowly as his lips sought contact with the other man. Anything would do; lips, cheek, jaw, nose. Just as long as he assured Uruha of all that Aoi didn’t feel. 

“You’re not into this?” It was a different question to usual and Aoi realised that he must have been slipping. He trailed his kissed downward, soft and chaste until locking onto the other’s mouth. 

Uruha liked things varied; sometimes slow and tender, other times rough and dominating. Through his own lies Aoi had became good at guessing what the other needed and altering his figurative artist’s brush to suit. Tonight it was the first. Uruha needed support and warmth, compassion and love. That was what Aoi gave him, all that Uruha could ever want and then some.

Tongue darting out, Aoi met no resistance as he lapped at the other’s full lips. Teasing. That was how Aoi got around things. A little touch, a brush of the hand and Uruha would be panting and wanting more. And Aoi would tease. Leave him like that, deny him everything and yet promise the world in return. 

Eventually it would get to the point where Uruha couldn’t take anymore. Where Aoi was sure that the other man would burst with longing and that was when Aoi would follow him home. And it always had to be Uruha’s home – never Aoi’s. Aoi had left that shattered mirror there, stark and cutting in its clarity and the perfect reminder answering the question of ‘Why?’

_For the love of the band._

“Just tired,” Aoi said between heated kisses. He moved closer, his hand trailing up and down Uruha's exposed thigh. It wasn’t hard to do, even he would admit that. It was the one aspect of their relationship that he didn’t need to fake or lie, or bribe himself to enjoy. 

Maybe that was the problem. With Uruha it had always been more physical than mental. More pretty scenery than meaningful conversation. It had been that fun loving smile that had roped Aoi in. A smile mixed with dancing eyes and flawless skin. 

But now those eyes only danced for him. Perhaps Aoi was like some fairytale ogre stealing the soul and livelihood of some beloved princess. It was a humbling thought though one that Aoi couldn’t agree with. Uruha’s eyes sparkled on stage, shone for the cameras and glazed over with drink. But they didn’t dance anymore. Not unless they were boring into Aoi’s own, invading the darkhaired man’s mind and soul. Then and only then did they truly come alive and Aoi was sure that they were dancing the hangman’s jig. A private waltz choreographed just for them.

Uruha was beautiful – it was a clear, obvious fact – but he wasn’t beautiful _to_ Aoi. 

“Besides,” Aoi added, a smirk coming easily to his lips. His eyes locked onto Uruha’s ear, seeking something to look at apart from the other’s eyes. Aoi’s hand rose, brushing at a strand of blonde hair to make his gaze more natural. He was good at hiding his lies. “Hotel room.” 

_For the love of the band._

Lips grazed his own, white teeth nipping playfully at his lip ring and Aoi knew he’d said the right thing. “Shower,” Uruha muttered, his breath hot and sticky against Aoi’s cheek. 

_For the love of the band._

“Hmmm.” Aoi tilted his head, allowing Uruha’s tongue to roam wherever it pleased as he agreed. Never words. That was his gift to himself. The only way that he could sleep at night. Without words he couldn’t be held accountable. Without words Uruha had no ammunition against him because that would be a death sentence. Aoi already had the firing squad aimed at himself and the last thing he needed was Uruha shouting the command. 

The sound seemed to delight Uruha and soon the man was nibbling at Aoi’s ear, soft and gentle with the occasional graze of teeth. A shiver ran the length of Aoi’s spine. The sensation spread outwards, prickling his skin and flushing his cheeks and for once he was grateful. Grateful that Uruha was so persistent, so eager to make Aoi’s world of lies easier. Thankful that the tactic Aoi employed to tease Uruha worked just as well on him.

_For the love of the band._

“I love you,” Uruha whispered, his lips brushing against Aoi’s ear. Hot. A branding iron to mark his sin and Aoi welcomed the scar. He had many of them. Red and swollen, crisscrossing all over his body and completely invisible in their existence. Some were from Uruha, others from a stroke of his own brush; an addition to the canvas painting of picture perfect love. 

Scars that were never there, that never bled and yet scars that would never heal. 

“I love you too.” The only words he’d offer, even if he did speak them to a haunting image of someone else’s face. The only sentence that Uruha could ever use against him and each word added another gunman to that line-up every time. 

They were the nails to the cross, the fire to the funeral pyre, the gun to Aoi’s temple. 

The glue to the band and Uruha soaked it up like photos in a scrapbook. That smile crossed his face, his eyes lighting up and dancing in a way that Aoi was all too familiar with. 

So Aoi replied in kind. A smile faked perfectly, a mirrored caress of lips then Aoi was stepping away and that distance was more like superglue than any forced proximity. 

_For the love of the band._

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, thoughts and constructive criticisms are love


End file.
